


Reverie

by LouisWinter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Gen, M/M, Other, Politics, Powerful Harry, death eaters are people too, dont want to give anything away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouisWinter/pseuds/LouisWinter
Summary: In a world where Voldemort is triumphant Harry Potter is not defeated.





	1. Chapter 1

There is a sound to triumph, like the hollow whine of a leashed animal, finally set free to roam. The sound pierces right through the cold stone walls and dark corridors of the castle, sharp as a bell until it reaches the main hall.  
By the time it does, Harry can barely feel his feet and his skin itches from the uncomfortable woollen robes they are all forced to wear.  
He is shifting from side to side until the dark glares of his black-clad neighbours force him to stop.  
Not that the robes are not of the highest quality, Harry muses, as fitting for the highest ranking in this new world order.  
Nevertheless, the Dark Lord isn’t one to worry about physical comforts. So removed is he from such weakness.  
Too soon the doors open, Harry can't decide if he feels relief that in a moment he will be able to sit down or heart wrenching anxiety at the prospect of the Dark Lord. This state of comfort and discomfort is a permanent one.  
Harry takes a deep breath: it has been twenty months and a day since the last battle.  
Twenty months and a day to the rebirth, as they now called it. Twenty months and a day since Harry had died.  
This fact alone, Harry thinks as he bites his lip, is enough for him to call it a rebirth. Here he agrees with Voldemort.  
He avoids the temptation to look to his left, eyes cast downwards. Sanity is precious in a place like this, and Harry takes any small comfort he can get.  
It is a new world, it is a rebirth of sorts and he can play by their rules and still stay true to himself.  
When the bell rings, they take their cue to sit down; tables appear in front of them- overloaded with delicious food. The hall is filled with muffled sounds of fabric and wooden chairs moved across stone mingled with relieved sighs of men who had to spend hours waiting for their lord.  
Harry feels the hunger; the delicious smells are not unlike Hogwarts.  
Probably the food is prepared by the same little hands, mingled with tears.  
Harry pushes dark thoughts away; the guilt of feeling any hunger in a place like this is soon gulped down with some pumpkin juice.  
He must eat and he must live. A few moments later and Harry feels a sharp elbow to his right, forcing him to look up.  
Isaac has big black eyes and a hooked nose, he is the ugliest man Harry has ever seen and yet the shining intelligence in those black depths gives him an air of nobility that commands respect.  
"Looks like it was a good day, doesn’t it?"  
Harry casts a careful gaze upwards; the Dark Lord is sitting on his white stone throne, clad in crimson robes, gently petting his wand.  
Harry feels a cold thrill run through him as he always does when looking at Voldemort.  
He feels power surge through him like an electric shock, as painful and as thrilling. Voldemort isn’t human, he shouldn’t be judged by human laws. Harry sees him as something else, a demon, a manic ghost, a prophet of evil.  
Sitting on his throne with luminescent skin and red eyes unfathomable, it is hard to describe him. Harry sees the way the Dark Lord is slightly slouched in his chair and the way his long fingers keep dancing on the wand.  
"It does seem that way" he quietly answers Isaac and turns back towards his meal. Isaac is perceptive as ever and notices Harry's discomfort.  
"You don't like looking at him do you?" Harry shrugs "or maybe I just want to eat my meal?"  
This comes out sounding defeated so Harry quickly deepens his voice and adds "or maybe I don't like your questions, Isaac".  
Unfortunately, the Death Eater isn’t easy to distract "It is not that you fear him like the others, is it? Let a man have is curiosity won't you Shimael."  
Harry feels his heart hammer in his chest and tries to meet Isaac's gaze but the death eater simply smirks and digs back into his meal.  
If Harry wasn't so disgusted with his other options for company he probably would have stayed away from Isaac, one of the few sharp minds around.  
He was right about the others, they are afraid of Voldemort, so afraid they never look him in the eye.  
Isaac like Harry was fearless, but Harry felt it was more due to his inherent pessimism rather than to what was Harry's prolonged exposure to Voldemort and Gryffindor bravery.  
Harry actually heard him say once "I'm going to die at the lord's hand one day, why not enjoy the wine?" He wasn't kidding either.  
It was true, Voldemort wasn’t very soft with his loyal servants and sometimes they displeased him enough to die.  
Isaac was loyal but not obedient, and therefore realistic about his chances.  
Perhaps that is why Harry was first attracted to him in those early hard days, he sensed that rebellious nature and craved to be near it, especially when he could do very little to express his own lack of obedience.  
Just then Harry observed a Death Eater across the table slice his silver knife into the eye of his neighbour, it wasn’t a pretty sight.  
The bleeding Death Eater was retaliating back with fervour. Some Death Eaters even dared to cheer the fight on.  
Such crude brutality was common enough that Harry kept chewing and simply wondered if they will be punished.  
Voldemort hated physical fights, acting like muggles was not tolerated.  
Surprisingly, the Dark Lord didn’t give a sign he was bothered, looks like Isaac was right- it was a good day.  
That could only mean one thing, Voldemort found something that made him more powerful than he already was.  
This wasn’t a good scenario for Harry.  
He tries the potatoes and hears a loud thump. The left Death Eater has fallen, he isn't moving and Harry wonders if he is dead.  
Finally, Voldemort rises from his chair, his face a frozen mask as always. Harry was sad to see the food disappear.  
"Up you animals" the quite voice was enough to silence the very air in the room. They stood up behind their chairs, like scorned school boys.  
The Dark Lord walks down from his throne; he glides towards the fallen figure above of which stood now a much-hunched figure of a death eater. Voldemort seemed to walk like a snake or like a ghost from an old fairy tale.  
Harry did look sometimes, fascinated by the way Voldemort commanded a room with his presence and quite voice alone. Everyone held their breath; Harry supposes no one is going to mourn these two brutes. A year ago, Voldemort has started to collect his little group of servants. He wasn't picky about their blood status, magical power, money or brains. No, he wanted them to be loyal and easy to bend.  
His old pureblood supporters were killed in the great battle, imprisoned and sent away in moments of paranoia or simply killed in Voldemort's raging haze during the previous year. Voldemort still kept some intelligent minds around, but more and more the death eaters started to resemble nothing but thugs. Harry was thrilled at that weakness, hoping that Voldemort's paranoia will be his downfall. After all, the new death eaters were sometimes too stupid to know how to follow the rules of their lord. Loyal but weak, Harry almost pitied them.  
The Dark Lord stopped and did this peculiar thing where he angled his head in thought. Harry wasn't sure Voldemort really showed anything through body language unless he chose to. He enjoyed toying with others, creating dramatic suspense before the blow.  
"What is this on the floor?" he says.  
Frightened silence and then "My Lord I was protecting your honour! I was I was…" When Voldemort kept angling his head in question the Death Eater started crying "he was being rude my lord!" Harry is watching in anticipation with everyone else. Voldemort finally straightened his back and did the most horrific thing Harry has ever seen him do: he smiled.  
The corners of his mouth turned upwards and his eyes blazed in crimson mirth. "Are you saying this thing on the floor is rudeness?"  
He asked and at the quick nods of the frightened death eater (who looked about to fall on the floor himself) waved his pale hand in the air "I agree with you, rudeness is a terrible sin". The poor Death Eater screamed in agony and Harry couldn't hold his body from cringing.  
The Dark Lord looked up and surveyed the assembled figures; "Rudeness at dinner is especially unpleasant don’t you agree?"  
A quite hum was his answered and Harry watched the two fallen bodies take fire and turn to ash before his eyes. A demon indeed, Harry thought, a demon holding the fires of hell at his fingertips.  
As they slowly walked out of the hall and to their rooms, Harry felt his heart sink.  
His hopes and careful cataloguing of Voldemort's weaknesses all meant nothing in front of such wandless magic, such power. He felt himself resign to this existence, to this fate he could not tolerate on most days.  
With a heavy heart, Harry climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He has seen so much meaningless death and violence within the stone walls of Voldemort's castle, so much suffering. Harry felt numb with it, even worse, he at times delighted in the suffering of his enemies and the guilt ate at his shell of numbness- reminding him this wasn't defeated, not yet. He was Harry James Potter, he was here for a reason and Voldemort will fall.  
Finally, Harry reached the familiar oak door of his bedroom wing; the door opens with the touch of his thumb. Every bedroom was soaked with Voldemort's magic, to let in only those who belonged.  
The bedroom is big but stark, containing only a bed and a small table. The black robes are dropped to the floor every evening, house elves clean them and bring them back by morning. Voldemort likes things to stay organised and clean.  
Harry really can't complain about that either. A large bathroom is attached to the bedroom and Harry heads to take a shower. He doesn’t feel dirty the way he did for the first year when each day he wanted to scrub his skin raw from the blood and the guilt. In those early days, all he wanted was to shed his new skin and be reborn again as just Harry. Harry with glasses and hand me down clothes and Ron and Hermione by his side. He can still hear their laughter sometimes; feel their presence in his dreams before they turn into nightmares soaked in sweat.  
The warm water washes over his skin, and Harry lets his head fall against the slippery wall. He needs to rethink his plans, his hopes have been naïve. Voldemort is getting stronger and waiting is not enough anymore. Harry knows the waiting game is over. He has let himself simply hope that one day Voldemort will slip and he will have his chance, he was wrong.  
Harry wraps himself in a towel and tiredly walks towards the fogged up mirror. His fingers draw circles on the glass and lines like lightning bolt scars. This mirror has saved him. When Harry woke up from death, whole and breathing- so very much alive, this mirror showed him his face. He looks at those eyes now, still his own but pale grey not green. The fog clears and Harry traces the now familiar mask of a face. The face is average, unremarkable, the nose slightly thin and the lips full. Long clumps of brown hair are lanky lines farming his cheeks.  
"This is day 609 of my rebirth. My name is Shimael and I'm in Poenari castle." This is the face of his new life.  
The towel falls and Harry traces the skin, scars on his left hip from a battle he never participated in. Strong muscles, a light shadow of hair on his chest, Shimael is older than Harry. Harry dies in the last battle, he truly did.  
When he accepted his fate and closed his eyes into the white light he felt at peace.  
But the white light became unbearable and Harry found himself waking up to the sunlight- real warm sunshine on his face. Was it all a dream? The room is unfamiliar and the window opens into a breathtaking hillside view. Green, vast landscape that feels like home.  
He is breathing, joyous at being alive. That is how Harry has found himself reborn into a new body, three years after Voldemort's triumph and the great battle. He was reborn as a Death Eater.  
Harry wasn’t the kind to believe in fate but he knew a second chance when it hit him in the face. He was there; he had a prophecy to complete.  
So he when the embers of his grief and anger died down, he was able to look into this mirror- that same mirror that freaked him out into screams and terror when he first encountered his new reflection.  
This time he saw something else- he saw his own eyes in the strangers face and he saw the eyes of all who died for him.  
The twinkling eyes of Fred, the soft eyes of Ginny, Lupin sadly smiling and Sirius darkly brooding all reflected there.  
More importantly, he saw the new body as armour against any harm. The skin of a Death Eater proved to be the best armour he could hope for. He was reborn and in this new world order, he wasn't going without a fight.


	2. Coronation

The mornings start before dawn at the castle. Before the sky clears into opaque blue, loud boots sound on the staircase, followed by even louder voices. The grey guards change shift at dawn, their last mission is to march as loudly as possible to wake up the sleeping Death Eaters.  
It is a dreary routine. One thump, two thumps, a curse and heavy boots running past the courtyard.  
Harry wakes up to the familiar sounds of boots and stretches languidly against the bed post. The castle is always heavily guarded; in addition to the invisible magic that surrounds it like a stormy cloud (tasting like copper, sharp as blood) human guards are placed on the walls and on top of the ancient towers.  
The castle is almost a prison but not quit, after all, it is more of a hiding place of a Dark Lord, perhaps an elaborate vacation house. Far away from the soils of Britain, Voldemort fled after the burning of Hogwarts.  
Harry remembers that day vividly.

"My Lord" Lucius Malfoy bows deeply before Voldemort "Hogwarts is ours!"  
The last place standing the familiar castle stands proudly in contradiction to Malfoys words.  
Voldemort is standing or more like hovering above the gates. His robes are torn to pieces; there is blood on his face and around his mouth. He looks rabid. The Death Eaters look no better, grazed from countless curses and almost fearful.  
Hogwarts proved to be a real challenge after all. It was triggered by the death of Harry Potter, something happened. A curse was activated, sending countless Death Eaters, werewolves and others flying in the air, banished from the grounds of the school.  
Voldemort preened at the challenge, waved his wand and then his arms and started chanting in a whispery language, but to no avail.  
Nothing was working, they tried everything but the more magic was thrown against the wards, the more the curse Dumbledore placed has strengthened. This was Hogwarts last stand. Harry was there, sweat clouding his vision, his left hand numb from clutching his wand. He was there but he thought he was dreaming. He remembers marching with the others, a giant to his left and a chubby Death Eater to his right.  
They marched and Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.  
Harry simply followed the others and watched events unfold. He watched without paying too much attention, high on adrenaline. He saw Voldemort appear in front of the castle gates to meet a middle-aged woman with hair tied in a tight knot and a stern expression.  
She stood there silent and Voldemort was speaking to her. Harry and the others leant forwards to try and catch Voldemort's words but the wind was too loud.  
Harry sees the woman's expression darken and her mouth tighten. Voldemort kept whispering something to her, her expression fell and Harry sees this is McGonagall! He wants to say something or run to her and shield her from Voldemort.  
But his legs are rooted to the ground, this can't be happening. McGonagall casts a look around; her eyes pierce Voldemort's army without fear and with something glinting underneath the surface.  
Harry thinks he has never seen her so desperate and yet so calm. She lifts her chin and her voice carries loud and clear "You shall never have Hogwarts". Before Harry can process, she lifts her boney arm and it is in flames.  
Voldemort screams and Harry is shocked by the sound. It is too late. The flames are hot red and they envelop everything.  
Everything burns in seconds in a hot fire that can't be stopped. Hogwarts is burning and Harry finds the scent is horrific.  
Harry hears someone crying and realises it is him. All the other Death Eaters are on their knees in pain, their dark marks glowing like the brands they are. Voldemort is still screaming or crying in agony. Harry remembers blacking out from the pain in his left arm at some point. His last thought is strange, he sees Fawkes, the loyal phoenix, rising from the ashes, larger then Harry remembers him. He has big golden wings and he is flying east, like a promise.  
After Hogwarts burned down, Voldemort wasn't the same. Which was fitting considering Harry wasn’t either.  
Voldemort woke up from his victory to find he lost his most precious. He raged for months, leaving ashes and ruin across Britain.  
Harry's memories of the time are hazy, sometimes he was there and sometimes he wasn’t.  
He can't say where he went in between. Only that it was calm and quite.  
At times, he woke up to observe things happen. Villages burning under the force of Death Eaters in blood lust, meals taken at camp around a fire followed by the constant apparition that left him feeling nauseous. Gradually, the memories sharpened, Harry could feel himself become solid, and his body ached. He felt warm, cold and sometimes he felt happy.  
He knew things, like how to throw dark curses or how to bow the right way when the Dark Lord was around. He knew mundane things too, like that he had a little sister called Mary and his favourite food was corned beef.  
Sometimes he was just Harry, in a stranger's body, observing but silent. It was like seeing through a kaleidoscope, vivid with colours and different shapes simultaneously.  
At camp, the Dark Lord was majestic, powerful and Harry's knees trembled with the need to bow.  
At camp, the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle to Harry, handsome and holding a little black book, before his smile turned to poison. And sometimes at camp, Voldemort was just Voldemort and Harry wanted him dead. But most of the times, the Dark Lord was simply there.  
When they reached London and Voldemort took his time securing his rule. The Death Eaters and Harry among them were sent to "have a little fun". They drank and they drank, and partied and thrilled on the fear of others.  
They could do whatever they wanted and everything was free. Harry had corned beef and he slept with a pretty girl with red hair. He remembers thinking her face was wrong, but he liked her hair.  
The next morning, swaying and buttoning his shirt Harry walked out. The streets of London were littered with black ribbons, symbols of Voldemort's victory. Harry was free and maybe slightly pissed from the night before. And that is when he noticed something was missing, Voldemort wasn't there. The familiar suffocating presence of his magic was gone and Harry felt naked and alone without it. 

He reached Oxford Street; usually, it was overcrowded especially during the summer months. It was now eerily deserted. The shops were closed, some were vandalised. Harry started walking around but the sky greyed and rain drops fell in a growing rhythm.  
"Shit" Harry raised his collar and ran across the street, looking for shelter while manically laughing. This was a nightmare or maybe a dream. He was the only living soul around and the rain kept soaking him until he was trembling, still laughing, Harry reached a small shed and folded against it. The scent of rain cleared his mind. A small dog carefully crossed the street towards the park. "Hey, doggie come here! Won't you?" The dog ignored him and his offer for shelter. Harry looked down into the swiftly forming puddle on the pavement. His face stared back at him, distorted. Harry knew who he was, but he also knew who he wasn’t. He was Shimael who swears, kills muggles and sometimes misses his mum (who was still alive and unhappy with her son's career choices). He was also Harry Potter only now he wasn't so sure about being the Boy who Lived. Harry caught himself laughing in panic again. 

He decided to not think, just be, and be in this animal body of a Death Eater aware of his needs. He walked back to the pub and found the others were searching for him. "Where were you?" Archie was a young freckled teen of a Death Eater, he never murdered anyone but liked to boast his entire village feared him, Harry found that hard to imagine. He took a liking to Archie although he was a bit of a bastard not to be trusted.  
Harry just shrugged his shoulders "meaning?" Archie rolled his eyes "we are late!"  
A group of older Death Eaters walked up to them "Aye we are! The Dark Lord is waiting." Harry felt an answering thrill underneath his skin, he this is how Shamiel felt whenever his lord was mentioned. Harry looked down at his arm, but Archie shook his head "he is at the Ministry they are signing" Archie looked lost…" something".  
Inwardly Harry cringed at the implications of that "something" Voldemort has officially won.  
"Are you coming or not?" Archie and the others hurried through the door into the twilight.  
Harry wondered why Voldemort kept the signing a quite affair and why do it now, at night? "Yes", Harry followed the others who looked sombre as if going to an important wedding. They nodded at each other and apparated together, Archie was holding on for dear life to Harry's elbow but was quick to let it go when they landed, pretending he was inspecting his boots. Harry ignored him and looked around.  
They were in a large marble hall, there were one table and two chairs at its centre. Harry knew they were at the Ministry but he couldn’t place where. Soon the other lowly Death Eaters arrived and they stood silently in anticipation. Next, arrived the higher up- Lucius Malfoy with Narcissa who looked she like she wasn’t happy to be there, her crazy sister Bellatrix followed, dressed in a tight red dress that invited appreciating stares.  
The joining purebloods avoided any contact with Harry's lowly group of new recruits. Harry could taste the tension and shivered at the menacing stares cast their way. "Think they are something special don't they?" Archie whispered in his ear. Harry stayed silent, noticing the absence of many familiar faces. "Bet they didn’t' receive a scratch while we were fighting bloody" Archie continued. Harry looked him up and down "Don't see you bleeding Archie".  
Archie blushed "oh piss off; you know what I'm on about. They have money and think they are all proper. "What about us?" Archie grimaced "Doing all the dirty work." Harry sighed, in his own way Archie was voicing a common frustration. Harry wasn't about to tell him that Lucius Malfoy was quite capable of getting anyone bloody with his wand, not mentioning Bellatrix who now stood still as a statue, facing the entrance, with such devotion in her eyes, Harry felt sick. No one loved the Dark Lord quite the way Bellatrix did.  
"See her?" Archie nodded "crazy bitch isn't she?" Harry swallowed a smile "don't let her hear you". Archie shuddered "I'm not stupid". Surprisingly, Harry was the first to notice Voldemort approaching. He felt the heavy magic, the familiar electric storm cloud that was Voldemort. A moment later the doors opened wide and in entered the Dark Lord, in white robes with silver snakes at the seams. Everyone was in awe and almost oblivious to the fact that just a small step behind Voldemort, followed the Minister of magic. The contrast was almost comical, Voldemort clad in white and silver, looking serene like a priest in a church, his hand folded in front of him as if in prayer and the Minister of magic, in black robes and an angry expression, carrying a heavy scroll. He had bulging eyes and fleshy red cheeks, Harry imagines he liked his sherry. Harry had little sympathy for the man; he was stupid, lazy and magically weak.  
The doors closed, and Harry realised with a start that that was it- Voldemort and his entourage and the Minister alone, a very humble affair. A small stage appeared behind the table and soft voices started singing. Harry and the others looked around confused, searching for the source of the music. Harry found it on the ceiling- small silver snakes coiled around the elaborate plaster and they were singing.  
Someone cleared his throat and started speaking in a melodic voice. He was a tall, very thin curly-haired man with a gentle but clear voice.  
"Sirs, I here present unto you  
Lord Voldemort  
your undoubted ruler:  
Wherefore all you who are come this day  
to do your homage and service,  
Are you willing to do the same?"  
The snakes praised: "He who rules the night, he who rules darkness, he who shall never die."  
There was an awed silence and the Minister looked about to faint. Lucius and Bellatrix stood at either side of Voldemort, glowing with pride, eyes serious. The sweet-voiced Death Eater continued now turning towards Voldemort with a giddy step: " Are you willing to take the oath?"  
Harry watched Voldemort bow his head and answer" I am willing".

The snakes were whispering: "power, blood, death, power…" Harry startled and looked up, he was the only one hearing the voices it seemed.  
Everyone else was entranced with the Dark Lord. Harry was shocked to find Voldemort smiling secretly at the ceiling, lips curled upwards. The silver snakes glowed and disappeared. Suddenly Voldemort's red eyes met his for a brief second and Harry froze and stopped breathing. But thankfully Voldemort relented and turned his gaze back to the proceedings. Harry hoped he imagined it but felt an uneasy cold feeling in his chest. What was going on?  
.."Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?" Voldemort started steadily into the crowd "I solemnly promise so to do." He recited in a voice that was strangely soft.  
The cherubic Death Eater leaned on his heels and loudly asked: "Will you maintain and preserve all magic and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established by thee?  
Voldemort lifted his head:"All this I promise to do". 

Then, the Minister placed the scroll on the table and Voldemort turned and lifted his right arm upon it and proclaimed: " The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me Magic."  
The scroll glowed bright red before the Minister hastily folded it. He looked pained.  
A white throne appeared and Voldemort gracefully set down.  
The singing started again:  
" Rejoice in the Lord alway,  
and again I say, rejoice.  
Let your moderation be known unto all men:  
the Lord is even at hand.  
Be careful for nothing…"  
Harry and everyone went down on their knees. Harry mouthed towards Archie who appeared in a trance.  
"What just happened?"  
Then after a brief silence, Voldemort rose and at signified they can rise. They rose in slow motion and watched the Dark Lord receive a silver crown and place it on his head.  
Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, eyes glowing and straight as an arrow. Harry had to admit he had a very pleasant voice;  
"We shall praise thee" and everyone repeated Malfoys words. the echo ringed in Harry's ears and he felt the ground sway.  
"We acknowledge thee" Malfoy continued. And so on it went with everyone repeating the words, louder and louder.  
Harry's chest felt tight, the ground continued swaying and beads of sweat started forming on his brow. He felt his own mouth without his consent repeat the words.  
Archie turned towards him and smiled a manic smile, all teeth, his eyes alight with ecstasy:  
"We have a king!" Harry fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monarchy isn't so bad right?


	3. Fire

Sometimes, Harry is grateful for the daily threat of discovery. Sometimes, if not for his well-developed instinct for survival- pushing him to keep going; “breathe just breath”. Harry would not get out of bed. He will continue lying on his back, staring at the old ceiling. Tracing the cracks with his eyes, like scars.  
Still, he would keep his eyes open, ears strained for he could almost hear familiar voices. In a moment, the door would open and in would barge Ron, or maybe Hermione, they would run in, all smiles and flushed cheeks from the early spring morning and Harry would greet them.  
Merlin, if that day ever came…Harry promises himself a thousand times – he will not let go, he will hold them in his arms forever. 

Until that day, Harry does wake up and get out of bed; he follows his routine like the soldier he was always destined to become. Dumbledore would be proud. First, Harry goes over to the window and opens it wide to let in the fresh air and sunshine, it is always good weather here. Next, he would carefully unfold the freshly cleaned and ironed black robes, clasping them with the small snake pin at his chest. He would wash his face and brush his teeth.  
"My name is Shimael Black, I am 32 years old and I am a Death Eater, today is..." If it was a good day Harry could do with that. On bad days, he had to mouth at the mirror: "My name is Harry Potter" over and over again, until his panic would subside. Today was a good day.

Harry skips down the stairs, two at a time, until he reaches the courtyard…"Lloyd, Hammer, Smith, Williams…" The list is read dryly, "Black…" Harry takes his place in line and receives his daily assignment. A folded square parchment sealed by the Dark Lord himself. Although, Harry found it hard To imagine Voldemort sitting at a desk and filling out paperwork all that. but maybe that is what world domination got you. With great power comes responsibility…or something of the sort.  
Harry stands to the side, letting the others pass him and quickly scans the parchment. The usual it seems: Two hours guarding prisoners, one hour of reporting confessions, one hour cleaning stable… "Oh" Harry let's out a surprised sound "power scanning after lunch".  
He looks around but everyone seems busy. Harry spots Isaac coming out and jogs over "Hey! What's up with the scanning?" Isaac huddles his robes tighter around his thin frame and glares at him like a raven: "Bring me some coffee and I might tell you" He answers gruffly.  
Harry grins and runs back into the main hall.  
Breakfast is way underway and Harry's stomach grumbles. "Sorry" Harry waves distractedly at Archie who attempts to catch his attention from where he is sitting.  
Grabs a jar of coffee and two mugs and hurries outside. He finds Isaac washing his hands near the stable; the water in the basin is deep red but slowly turning into pale pink. Harry casually leans against the door frame but he can't help staring.  
"Just blood, young man" Isaac doesn’t look at him until he's done and Harry doesn’t ask. Eventually they settle on a bench, the morning is warm and quiet and the coffee as addictively good as always. "Do you think he keeps as pampered for a reason?" Harry carefully asks into his mug. Isaac doesn’t need to ask who "he" is. "Probably", He replies simply, "It is easier to control a man with pleasure then with pain.”

Harry shudders slightly at the thought and avoids staring at Isaac's hands. "Alright, hand me that paper of yours." Harry takes out the now crumpled directions with an apologetic look "here". Isaac hums and takes a look before smiling. "Looks like our Lord is making plans." At Harry's gruff expression he shrugs "He needs more men for what he is planning, maybe a coming back to Britain? It is hard to say. You of course” he pauses to scratch his beard “should go". At the last part Isaac stares Harry down with a glare. Harry avoids looking him in the eye. Sometimes Isaac reminds him of Snape and his uncanny ability to give a heart attack with his black eyes alone. "I did go last time; I don't see why go through all the trouble again. I'm not going to suddenly be of any use to the Dark Lord."  
Isaac finishes up his coffee and stands up. Harry flexes his strong arms "besides, I know what I'm good for." Isaac brushes past him "Funny that. Don’t you think?" He cryptically says. Before Harry can ask he notices the time "Bugger. I'm late, see you later". Harry really is late for his first duty.  
As he runs down to the dungeons he can't help the uneasy feeling in his stomach. A scanning wasn't good news. 

Harry like every new recruit, had to go through a lengthy process before initiation into the new Death Eater ranks. Most of it cruel and unpleasant, but thankfully Harry wasn't exactly…Harry yet when he had to go through it. He had the memories alright. Long nights of running around woods on elaborate missions (Harry thought the mind behind those was Lucius, it was just his kind of sense of humor) constant competition between recruits. Half of the new recruits died in the process.  
Those who made it were brought over before Voldemort and had to go through a grueling day of what they called Scanning.  
Harry thought of that process as something along the lines of the NEWTs. Their magic was tested in every possible way. The result was a loud (and embarrassing) public declaration of their grade. Shimael was a green level three. Which amounted to average at best magically, three was good for physical stamina. Anyone below level orange was placed on the lowest level. They were the guards, the disposables, and the manual labor. It wasn’t too bad really, for someone who say, admired the Dark Lord and wanted a meal to eat and a place to sleep. Harry was just happy it meant as little time with Voldemort as possible. All things considered, it was the best cover he could hope for. He wondered if his magical power adapted to the levels of his new body or if somewhere inside there was still more. No, he shouldn’t think of it.

“Password" Harry halts at the entrance and attempts to remember "fear not?" he tries (silly passwords) the gates open and he tentatively steps into the damp and dark dungeons. It is a suffocating place of rows upon rows of cells and dripping water and busy rats. Harry doesn't know how big the dungeons are but he never sees the end of them. A quick Lumos and he walks over to the nearest cell. The cell appears practically empty but Harry knows better.  
There is a small figure Harry can make out in the dark corner. He walks up to it "Hey! Get up will you?" He keeps talking in a rough voice while making sure no one was standing near the cell. "You are nothing but scum… get up when a Death Eater is speaking to you! You little…" Harry kept on talking while simultaneously closing in on the figure. One last look around and Harry swiftly pulled out his water bottle and placed it firmly in the figures outstretched hand. And what a thin pale hand it was! Harry felt the guilt well up in his throat but did his best to keep talking "Hadn't had enough I see? Muggles think they're so brave.…”  
The pile of rags suddenly quivered and moved to the left before gracelessly falling on its side with a heavy sigh. The bottle rolled onto the cold stone floor and Harry cursed and tried to retrieve it. "Please drink… Please don’t die" Harry was losing it. If only he could perform magic to heal if only- useless thoughts. But no, even Harry Potter wasn’t a very skilled healer was he? Shimeal was powerless on top of that. Heavy footsteps awake Harry from his reverie and he jumps fast and runs out of the cell. His throat feels strangely dry and his eyes burn. He collides with a big muscular chest, two inches taller than him, two strong arms steady him.  
Harry looks up into the wide face of Greggory Goyal.  
He hasn’t changed much, Harry muses. The same little black eyes stare at him stupidly, as if unsure where to focus. The only change is that now fat has been replaced with muscle, giving the once chubby boy a menacing look. Harry straightens himself and tries to move away with no success. Goyal is like a big tree, its roots firmly placed in the earth of Voldemort's dungeons.  
“Excuse me” Harry politely tries again to bypass the giant but Goyal only keeps blinking at him, it is rather unnerving. He opens and closes his mouth several times and Harry is losing his patience. He feels the burning tears give way to anger, his heart hammers and he wants to do something- anything to let his rage out. But Goyal finally finds out that sounds are meant to come out of one's mouth and that creating shapes with his lips isn't enough. "Do I know you?" Goyal finally says. Voice quiet and soft.  
”I’m afraid not, I’m in a bit of a hurry if you could move?” Harry tries to appear angry rather than on the verge of tears. Surprisingly, Goyal complies and allows Harry to escape back into the sunshine. Outside, Harry nearly crumples against a tree. He is heaving loudly. If feels as if the air has turned too dense for human lungs. Time stops, the sounds of boots and conversation fold into the background. Harry doesn’t know how long it’s been, but eventually a shadow drops and shields him from the sun. He is drenched in sweat yet shivering. “Here” the shadow speaks, and something is pushed under his nose. Harry inhales something spicy and fresh and immediately feels his head clear. He looks up only to be blinded by the sunlight.  
Goyal stands aside awkwardly and hides a small glass flask in his robes. “It really helps”. When Harry stays silent he starts fidgeting.  
“I know it can get hard down there at first”. Goyal waves his large hands in every direction but Harry understands.  
“The dungeons?” His voice coming out rough. Goyal nods slowly, “yes”. Encouraged (merlin knows why) by Harry’s silence, Goyal continues: “They think they can just take us cuz we are low level and put as there, like we are not good for nothing else. You know?”  
Harry sees Goyal’s cheeks turn pink and remembers him as an angry school boy. “Where would you have preferred to be?” Harry can’t help but ask- he is curious. Goyal’s expression comes close to surprise, brows lifted “Near the Dark Lord” he answers. 

It was times like this that Harry missed his friends terribly. Worse, he missed a world that made sense. A world where one knew what evil clearly was.  
Goyal with his flushed face and extended hand, didn’t fit anywhere, except in a world where young boys were turned into soldiers before they knew how to ride a broom.  
Thankfully, Harry has the perfect excuse to leave when they both notice the time. Goyal helps him up and they walk in silence towards the castle. It is almost time for the screening.  
They enter the hall, surrounded by Death Eaters of all levels. The room is lit by floating silver spheres (a nice touch) and emptied of all furniture except for the head table. The lack of hierarchy is unusual, all Death Eaters standing together. The atmosphere is tensely competitive.  
Harry tries to edge towards the wall where he can conceal himself but is cornered between two high grade Death Eaters who scowl at his attempt to move. Harry inwardly sighs at the now familiar situation and scowls back, like a pack of rabid dogs it is.  
The room falls silent when the inner circle enters led by Lucious Malfoy. They strut in like peacocks, billowing silver robes like tails behind them. The others called them the silver ones. Harry thought it was a rather dramatic name, but it made sense. They were after all composed of the older Death Eaters, the ones there from the beginning,, they were practically old, supposedly wise. Oh and they liked wearing silver robes and masks to that affect.  
The silver ones sit behind the table, and as if nothing unusual is taking place they start drinking and eating.  
Everyone is silent, watching their glasses fill with red wine. Lucious drinks slowly, savoring the discomfort around him.  
Finally, one of the high level death Eaters stands up and speaks, his hands behind his back an his expression stony. His voice drawls slowly, almost bored, or like he has been tortured all night and hans no energy left: “ You all know why you are here. Today you receive a special gift: you will prove yourself to your Lord.  
Those worthy will be greatly rewarded, and those who are not…You will be treated accordingly. After all this is a place for the very best. Don’t you want to be the very best?"  
He walks up to the table and nods at Lucious, that he brings out a box. Harry blinks, where did that come from?  
“You will be tested starting now and until dawn the next day. Those who reach the sunrise will stay.” No mention of this who don’t, Harry looks across the room, the faces are tense. “If you don’t pass you get to stay where you are…” The Death Eater looks intently at the faces staring back: “A disappointment.” He opens the back and takes out a large glass globe. “And the Dark Lord will be watching”.  
Great, Harry thinks, just great. If Harry knew one thing about Voldemort's tests is that they tended to turn bloody and if he was watching even more so.  
“You will be tested on your magic alone, no muscles and dirty tricks. We are civilized people we are not muggles. The man continued but Harry felt himself space out.  
When the silence was broken with chatter Harry tried to clear his mind and follow. They were led into another large hall.  
This one had many fireplaces in it and was used for fire-calls mostly. Now, each fireplace had a sphere above it.  
“This will be your task of fire”. Harry almost rolled his eyes, these Death Eaters and their dramatic names.  
“You will each be given an object you must protect with your life and you will pass it on to the address you receive by using the floo.”  
They were each given a small coin with a snake on it and an attached address. Harry held his up to the light. He was to bring the coin to Egypt of all places.  
Harry wasn’t a fool, they were going to make this difficult. He looked around and noticed the others rushing towards the nearest fire place, some started to fight to reach it first, like the idiots they were. Harry waited with the others who still had their brains intact, the doors closed with a loud sound and the room turned dark. Everyone shouted almost immediately to light their wands.  
The hall appeared like a vast black space with floating faces in the darkness.Like some nightmare. Harry held up his wand so he could see where he was going.  
But suddenly, there was a familiar noise like a rushing wind. and Harry and the others were swept by a current of water, shouts of surprise surrounded him. The water was freezing and it seemed to be rising. Harry swam to the best of his ability. He had to get to get to the nearesst fire place. Drowning was not on the agenda today.  
“Shimael!” He heard what sounded like a panicked Archie. He looked around, but there were too many Death Eaters trying to swim in every direction.  
Someone elbowed him in the ribs.  
Okay, deep breath, Shimeal was a good swimmer and Harry felt his muscles react accordingly, going with the water and not against it. But the water kept rising. Already Harry struggled to stay above it and the old ceiling of the hall was getting closer.  
Think..Think…Harry tried his wand but if felt useless and slippery in his hand. He remembered his fourth year and tried casting the Scuba spell to breath underwater. It took a few tries but just as the water enveloped him whole, it seemed to work and his lungs filled with much needed air.  
Harry looked around, arms and legs and bodies all around him, some swimming, some decided to use elaborate spells make it easier to move across water. Some looking about to drown. Alright, that was good, now where is that fireplace?  
Harry located it, he could see a few others swimming towards it on the other end of the hall. As he swam Harry felt the water grow from cold to pleasantly warm, and then warmer, it felt nice against his skin. But as he reached the middle of the hall the water kept warming, it was hot and growing hotter. Just great; two options cast spells to cool off or use the time to swim faster.  
Now…What would he choose? What would Shimael choose? Harry felt his skin start stinging painfully with every second as the temperature rose. Harry's first instinct was to keep moving, keep going. But the real question was…What would Voldemort choose? The heat was making it hard for him to focus and think.  
Harry knew that trying to cool the water around him will be useless the only other option was to keep swimming.  
He could feel and hear the anguish of those behind him but he kept going. Dizzy, and blind with pain he reached with his hands until he felt a wall. The stones warm against his finger he shouted with his last breath:  
“Egypt, Cairo!”  
clutching the coin in his fist Harry was swept away towards his destination.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language so you are welcome to correct grammar and such.  
> * Poenari castle is beautiful, although ruined you should see it if you can.


End file.
